


Enigma

by POPP_Writing_Group



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fighting, It starts off without them though, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Winter Soldier and Black Widow - Freeform, buckynat - Freeform, dojo - Freeform, they have a kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 20:17:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12283656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/POPP_Writing_Group/pseuds/POPP_Writing_Group
Summary: There's a new girl at the dojo.





	Enigma

**Author's Note:**

> Written by: Lily
> 
> By the way, all the works on here have different authors, since this is an account for our writing group. So don't be surprised that this may seem different in style and such than other works on our account.

I looked at the girl walking down the hall. If anything, she looked pretty odd, because in a dojo, she had no gi on. She was wearing a gray shoestring backpack. Her hair was red, and so bright it looked almost scarlet. It was braided and in a ponytail with two knife-like, smooth, 7 inch sticks crisscrossing at the top of it. She wore a dark-gray silky-looking shirt that matched the shoestring backpack with dark blue jeans. As she turned to the counter to get her nametag, I saw she had a red star on the arm of her shirt.

She came and sat down next to me. _I might as well start a conversation,_ I thought. 

“Uh. . . Hi, I'm James,” I said.

“Oh, cool, my dad's name is James,” she said in a friendly, although quiet, voice.

“And you are. . .” I looked at her nametag. It said _Mireille_. “Murr-ell?”

She raised one eyebrow at me teasingly. “It's pronounced Meer-AY,” she corrected.

“Oh, okay, sorry,” I said, feeling embarrassed.

“It's okay,” she said, smiling.

Just then, our Sensei walked in. “Everyone, you can have half an hour of warm-up before we start sparring.” He smiled and continued, “But before we begin, I'd like to introduce someone who is thinking of joining our dojo.” He motioned toward Mireille. “Miss Mireille Barnes.” 

As soon as Sensei left, three of the best students in the dojo got up and started toward us. I knew from experience that they meant nothing good.

I saw that Mireille saw them, but she appeared to be completely ignoring them as she opened her backpack, took out two long, metal batons and started twirling them between her fingers. 

“So,” she said conversationally to me, “how do they pair students up for sparring?”

“Well,” I said nervously, my eyes darting to the three students coming menacingly toward us, “we have a tradition here that the newest student is supposed to spar with the best one to see how good they are and in order to get in.” I paused for a moment, then quickly added, “It doesn't matter whether you win or not, you just have to spar with them.”

Mireille nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds like a good idea,” she said. 

The three students reached us. The best of them, Peter, approached Mireille with a swagger born of overconfidence. “Well, well, well,” he said. He suddenly reached toward her and grabbed her shirt, jerking it up to his face to look at her nametag. Mireille stiffened and pulled away. “As I see James is telling you, you have to fight the best student in the dojo in order to get in. That would be me. You looking forward to that, Murr-ell?”

I spoke up, even though I could hear my heart beating faster. “It's pronounced Meer-AY.”

His two friends, second and third best in the dojo, stepped toward me. “Oh,” said one, “You want to teach him how to pronounce things?”

“Yeah, Mr. Grammar teacher,” sneered the other.

Mireille raised her eyebrow again. I was beginning to like that facial expression.

Unfortunately, I liked Peter's sneer a lot less as his two friends came closer. “Maybe we need to teach you a lesson,” said the first.

Mireille stepped forward. “Hey,” she said, and although her voice was quiet, I shivered at the dangerous sound in it. “I'm not supposed to start any fights here, so why don't you back off?”

“You?” Peter scoffed. “Start a fight?”

Mireille twirled her batons faster. Her expression was getting scary. I felt a lot safer knowing I wasn't going to be the object of her wrath if she snapped.

The first of Peter's friends said, “Why don't you put those sticks down and fight me like a man?”

“She can't fight like a man, though,” added the second one, looking her up and down.

“Fine,” Mireille said, handing the batons to me. "But fighting the other way is going to hurt you more."

Before the two friends could question what she meant, Mireille jumped forward and grabbed around the first bully's neck with her hands and swiftly kicked with both legs at the other. The second student grabbed his chest with both hands and doubled over. I guess Mireille had knocked the wind out of him. Mireille quickly flipped the other over her shoulder and held them both in an arm lock. All of that had taken less than 10 seconds and Peter was visibly stunned. 

Our Sensei ran over to us with an expression of shock on his face. Obviously, seeing two of his best student on the ground groaning and holding their arms and chest was not what he found every day and he was plainly surprised when I told him what happened. 

“Well, Miss Mireille,” he said in his perfect English accent. “If you want to fight so much, why don't you fight Peter, our best student?”

“Sure,” Mireille shrugged and handed her batons to me again. Before she stepped onto the mat, she whispered to me, “Should I take it easy on him?”

I considered this for a moment. “No.”

“Slow or fast?”

“Slow. For his pride.”

She stepped onto the mat and bowed to Peter. As Sensei said _“Hajime!”",_ Mireille sprang into a strong front stance. Peter let out a shout and somersaulted towards her. Mireille flipped over him and gave him a quick back kick to his back end. Peter, a little angered by the chuckles from the crowd, spin kicked towards Mireille. Mireille dodged it as if it were a fly, then kicked Peter's leg and threw an uppercut to his jaw. The crowd oohed and ahhed. Mireille grabbed onto Peter's shoulders, jumped up onto his back, crisscrossed her legs around his neck and twisted them in a way to fast to see. She slammed him into the ground. 

As Peter lay there groaning, Mireille sprang up from the ground and bowed at him. With everyone severely stunned, Mireille walked to me, smiled, gently took the batons, and started twirling. Sensei cleared his throat, helped Peter up, and announced that we had 30 more minutes left in class. 

No one wanted to spar with Mireille after that, but other students paired up and sparred. Since no one was sparring with me either, I asked Mireille how she did that move to take down Peter. She asked if I wanted her to do it to me, and I declined. She offered to teach me how to twirl her batons instead. She took another pair out of her backpack, and I practiced the forms she showed me for the rest of the sparring period. In all that time, I managed to become _almost_ good at it. 

Near the end of the sparring time, parents started to come in to pick up their kids. I knew my mom was going to be late, as she had a dentist appointment, but I wondered where Mireille's parents were.

 _And who they are,_ I thought. _How did Mireille get so good at what she does?_

As I finished that thought, I heard a horn honk outside in the parking lot.

"That's my dad," Mireille said, putting away her batons and the pair I had. "I have to go."

"Will you come back?" I asked.

She smiled apologetically. "I don't know. I wasn't supposed to start anything here."

"Can. . . can I have your phone number?" I asked, then added hastily, "In case I have any questions about. . . baton twirling."

"Sure." She scribbled it down quickly on a pad of paper from her backpack, then swung the pack over her shoulder and started to walk out.  I ran to catch up with her. "Can I walk you out?"

She raised her eyebrow at me teasingly one more time, then said, "Sure, James."

As we walked out to the parking lot, Mireille's dad stepped out of his car. He had a long-sleeved shirt with black gloves, even though it was hot outside. His hair was dark and longer than average, and pulled back from his face slightly. He grinned at Mireille. "Hey, Meerkat," he said. "How did it go? Did you like it?"

"Yeah, I did," she said. "Made a friend." She elbowed me playfully. "Dad, this is James."

He smiled at me. "Cool name."

"Thanks," I said.

"Uh, dad," Mireille said hesitantly, "I. . . uh. . . I started a fight."

He nodded gravely for a moment, then his face lit up in a grin. "Did you win?"

She smiled. "What do you think?"

He quickly smoothed out his grin, although I could still see parts of it lurking near his eyes. "Okay, Mireille. We'd better not come back to this dojo then. But. . ." His smile sprang up again. "I'm proud of you, honey."

He held out his left hand in a fist, and Mireille laughed and bumped his fist with her own. 

My eyes widened in shock. As her dad stretched out his arm, his sleeve fell away from it and I could see a glint of metal where his skin should be. He quickly pushed his sleeve back down, acting as if nothing was wrong, although I could tell he had seen me notice. 

"Okay, Mireille," he said, "Your mom is still on another. . ." He paused and looked at me. "Another. . . outing," he finished. "She won't be back until Friday. Say goodbye to your friend with the awesome name, and let's go." He winked at me and got into the car.

" Bye," I said hesitantly to Mireille.

She smiled at me. "Remember, if you have any questions about . . . baton twirling, just call." She reached out and gave me a quick hug, then got into the car with her dad.

Long after their car had driven away, I was still standing there, a shocked expression on my face. After a bit, my brain began to put the pieces together.

"That was. . ." I sputtered. My brain supplied me with another piece of information. "And her mom. . ." I said in a whisper.

I looked down at the sheet of paper in my hand. Slowly, I smiled. 

_I'm going to have to find some batons,_ I thought.


End file.
